NewsPrints: September 2015

Tuesday, 22 September 2015

My 25 years as a prostitute

Image copyright Joe C Moreno

Brenda Myers-Powell was just a child when she became a prostitute in the early 1970s. Here she describes how she was pulled into working on the streets and why, three decades later, she devoted her life to making sure other girls don't fall into the same trap. Some people will find Brenda's account upsetting.

Right from the start life was handing me lemons, but I've always tried to make the best lemonade I can.
I grew up in the 1960s on the West Side of Chicago. My mother died when I was six months old. She was only 16 and I never learned what it was that she died from - my grandmother, who drank more than most, couldn't tell me later on. The official explanation is that it was "natural causes".
I don't believe that. Who dies at 16 from natural causes? I like to think that God was just ready for her. I heard stories that she was beautiful and had a great sense of humour. I know that's true because I have one also.
It was my grandmother that took care of me. And she wasn't a bad person - in fact she had a side to her that was so wonderful. She read to me, baked me stuff and cooked the best sweet potatoes. She just had this drinking problem. She would bring drinking partners home from the bar and after she got intoxicated and passed out these men would do things to me. It started when I was four or five years old and it became a regular occurrence. I'm certain my grandmother didn't know anything about it.
She worked as a domestic in the suburbs. It took her two hours to get to work and two hours to get home. So I was a latch-key kid - I wore a key around my neck and I would take myself to kindergarten and let myself back in at the end of the day. And the molesters knew about that, and they took advantage of it.

Image copyright Brenda Myers-Powell I would watch women with big glamorous hair and sparkly dresses standing on the street outside our house. I had no idea what they were up to; I just thought they were shiny. As a little girl, all I ever wanted was to be shiny.
One day I asked my grandmother what the women were doing and she said, "Those women take their panties off and men give them money." And I remember saying to myself, "I'll probably do that" because men had already been taking my panties off.
To look back now, I dealt with it all amazingly well. Alone in that house, I had imaginary friends to keep me company that I would sing and dance around with - an imaginary Elvis Presley, an imaginary Diana Ross and the Supremes. I think that helped me deal with things. I was a really outgoing girl - I used to laugh a lot.
At the same time, I was afraid, always afraid. I didn't know if what was happening was my fault or not. I thought perhaps something was wrong with me. Even though I was a smart kid, I disconnected from school. Going into the 1970s, I became the kind of girl who didn't know how to say "no" - if the little boys in the community told me that they liked me or treated me nice, they could basically have their way with me.
By the time I was 14, I'd had two children with boys in the community, two baby girls. My grandmother started to say that I needed to bring in some money to pay for these kids, because there was no food in the house, we had nothing.
So, one evening - it was actually Good Friday - I went along to the corner of Division Street and Clark Street and stood in front of the Mark Twain hotel. I was wearing a two-piece dress costing $3.99, cheap plastic shoes, and some orange lipstick which I thought might make me look older.
I was 14 years old and I cried through everything. But I did it. I didn't like it, but the five men who dated me that night showed me what to do. They knew I was young and it was almost as if they were excited by it.
I made $400 but I didn't get a cab home that night. I went home by train and I gave most of that money to my grandmother, who didn't ask me where it came from.
The following weekend I returned to Division and Clark, and it seemed like my grandmother was happy when I brought the money home.
But the third time I went down there, a couple of guys pistol-whipped me and put me in the trunk of their car. They had approached me before because I was, as they called it, "unrepresented" on the street. All I knew was the light in the trunk of the car and then the faces of these two guys with their pistol. First they took me to a cornfield out in the middle of nowhere and raped me. Then they took me to a hotel room and locked me in the closet.
That's the kind of thing pimps will do to break a girl's spirits. They kept me in there for a long time. I was begging them to let me out because I was hungry, but they would only allow me out of the closet if I agreed to work for them.

Image copyright Brenda Myers-Powell They pimped me for a while, six months or so. I wasn't able to go home. I tried to get away but they caught me, and when they caught me they hurt me so bad. Later on, I was trafficked by other men. The physical abuse was horrible, but the real abuse was the mental abuse - the things they would say that would just stick and which you could never get from under.
Pimps are very good at torture, they're very good at manipulation. Some of them will do things like wake you in the middle of the night with a gun to your head. Others will pretend that they value you, and you feel like, "I'm Cinderella, and here comes my Prince Charming". They seem so sweet and so charming and they tell you: "You just have to do this one thing for me and then you'll get to the good part." And you think, "My life has already been so hard, what's a little bit more?" But you never ever do get to the good part.
When people describe prostitution as being something that is glamorous, elegant, like in the story of Pretty Woman, well that doesn't come close to it. A prostitute might sleep with five strangers a day. Across a year, that's more than 1,800 men she's having sexual intercourse or oral sex with. These are not relationships, no-one's bringing me any flowers here, trust me on that. They're using my body like a toilet.
And the johns - the clients - are violent. I've been shot five times, stabbed 13 times. I don't know why those men attacked me, all I know is that society made it comfortable for them to do so. They brought their anger or mental illness or whatever it was and they decided to wreak havoc on a prostitute, knowing I couldn't go to the police and if I did I wouldn't be taken seriously.
I actually count myself very lucky. I knew some beautiful girls who were murdered out there on the streets.

Image copyright Brenda Myers-Powell I prostituted for 14 or 15 years before I did any drugs. But after a while, after you've turned as many tricks as you can, after you've been strangled, after someone's put a knife to your throat or someone's put a pillow over your head, you need something to put a bit of courage in your system.
I was a prostitute for 25 years, and in all that time I never once saw a way out. But on 1 April 1997, when I was nearly 40 years old, a customer threw me out of his car. My dress got caught in the door and he dragged me six blocks along the ground, tearing all the skin off my face and the side of my body.
I went to the County Hospital in Chicago and they immediately took me to the emergency room. Because of the condition I was in, they called in a police officer, who looked me over and said: "Oh I know her. She's just a hooker. She probably beat some guy and took his money and got what she deserved." And I could hear the nurse laughing along with him. They pushed me out into the waiting room as if I wasn't worth anything, as if I didn't deserve the services of the emergency room after all.
And it was at that moment, while I was waiting for the next shift to start and for someone to attend to my injuries, that I began to think about everything that had happened in my life. Up until that point I had always had some idea of what to do, where to go, how to pick myself up again. Suddenly it was like I had run out of bright ideas. I remember looking up and saying to God, "These people don't care about me. Could you please help me?"

Find out more

Brenda Myers-Powell spoke to Outlook on the BBC World Service
Listen to the interview on iPlayer
Dreamcatcher, a film about Brenda directed by Kim Longinotto, will be shown in the BBC's Storyville strand in the UK later this year

God worked real fast. A doctor came and took care of me and she asked me to go and see social services in the hospital. What I knew about social services was they were anything but social. But they gave me a bus pass to go to a place called Genesis House, which was run by an awesome Englishwoman named Edwina Gateley, who became a great hero and mentor for me. She helped me turn my life around.
It was a safe house, and I had everything that I needed there. I didn't have to worry about paying for clothes, food, getting a job. They told me to take my time and stay as long as I needed - and I stayed almost two years. My face healed, my soul healed. I got Brenda back.
Through Edwina Gateley, I learned the value of that deep connection that can occur between women, the circle of trust and love and support that a group of women can give one another.
Usually, when a woman gets out of prostitution, she doesn't want to talk about it. What man will accept her as a wife? What person will hire her in their employment? And to begin with, after I left Genesis House, that was me too. I just wanted to get a job, pay my taxes and be like everybody else.
But I started to do some volunteering with sex workers and to help a university researcher with her fieldwork. After a while I realised that nobody was helping these young ladies. Nobody was going back and saying, "That's who I was, that's where I was. This is who I am now. You can change too, you can heal too."
So in 2008, together with Stephanie Daniels-Wilson, we founded the Dreamcatcher Foundation. A dreamcatcher is a Native American object that you hang near a child's cot. It is supposed to chase away children's nightmares. That's what we want to do - we want to chase away those bad dreams, those bad things that happen to young girls and women.
The recent documentary film Dreamcatcher, directed by Kim Longinotto, showed the work that we do. We meet up with women who are still working on the street and we tell them, "There is a way out, we're ready to help you when you're ready to be helped." We try to get through that brainwashing that says, "You're born to do this, there's nothing else for you."

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Media caption Clip from Dreamcatcher, directed by Kim Longinotto

I also run after-school clubs with young girls who are exactly like I was in the 1970s. I can tell as soon as I meet a girl if she is in danger, but there is no fixed pattern. You might have one girl who's quiet and introverted and doesn't make eye contact. Then there might be another who's loud and obnoxious and always getting in trouble. They're both suffering abuse at home but they're dealing with it in different ways - the only thing they have in common is that they are not going to talk about it. But in time they understand that I have been through what they're going through, and then they talk to me about it.
So far, we have 13 girls who have graduated from high school and are now in city colleges or have gotten full scholarships to go to other colleges. They came to us 11, 12, 13 years old, totally damaged. And now they're reaching for the stars.
Besides my outreach work, I attend conferences and contribute to academic work on prostitution. I've had people say to me, "Brenda, come and meet Professor so-and-so from such-and-such university. He's an expert on prostitution." And I look at him and I want to say: "Really? Where did you get your credentials? What do you really know about prostitution? The expert is standing in front of you."
I know I belong in that room but sometimes I have to let them know I belong there. And I think it's ridiculous that there are organisations that campaign against human trafficking, that do not employ a single person who has been trafficked.

Image copyright Rise Films (Dreamcatchers) Ltd People say different things about prostitution. Some people think that it would actually help sex workers more if it were decriminalised. I think it's true to say that every woman has her own story. It may be OK for this girl, who is paying her way through law school, but not for this girl, who was molested as a child, who never knew she had another choice, who was just trying to get money to eat.
But let me ask you a question. How many people would you encourage to quit their jobs to become prostitutes? Would you say to any of your close friends or female relatives, "Hey, have you thought of this? I think this would be a really great move for you!"
And let me say this too. However the situation starts off for a girl, that's not how the situation will end up. It might look OK now, the girl in law school might say she only has high-end clients that come to her through an agency, that she doesn't work on the streets but arranges to meet people in hotel rooms, but the first time that someone hurts her, that's when she really sees her situation for what it is. You always get that crazy guy slipping through and he has three or four guys behind him, and they force their way into your room and gang rape you, and take your phone and all your money. And suddenly you have no means to make a living and you're beaten up too. That is the reality of prostitution.
Three years ago, I became the first woman in the state of Illinois to have her convictions for prostitution wiped from her record. It was after a new law was brought in, following lobbying from the Chicago Alliance Against Sexual Exploitation, a group that seeks to shift the criminal burden away from the victims of sexual trafficking. Women who have been tortured, manipulated and brainwashed should be treated as survivors, not criminals.

Image copyright Rise Films (Dreamcatchers) Ltd There are good women in this world and also bad women. There are bad men and also good men.
Following my time as a prostitute, I simply wasn't ready for another relationship. But after three years of healing and abstinence, I met an extraordinary man. I was very picky - he likes to joke that I asked him more questions than the parole board. He didn't judge me for any of the things that had happened before we met. When he looked at me he didn't even see those things - he says all he saw was a girl with a pretty smile that he wanted to be a part of his life. I sure wanted to be a part of his too. He supports me in everything I do, and we celebrated 10 years of marriage last year.
My daughters, who were raised by my aunt in the suburbs, grew up to be awesome young ladies. One is a doctor and one works in criminal justice. Now my husband and I have adopted my little nephew - and here I am, 58 years old, a football mum.
So I am here to tell you - there is life after so much damage, there is life after so much trauma. There is life after people have told you that you are nothing, that you are worthless and that you will never amount to anything. There is life - and I'm not just talking about a little bit of life. There is a lot of life.

Image copyright Aaron Wickenden Brenda Myers-Powell appeared on Outlook on the BBC World Service. Listen again to the interview on iPlayer or get the Outlook podcast. The documentary Dreamcatcher, directed by Kim Longinotto, will be broadcast in the UK as part of the BBC's Storyville strand in October. Production by William Kremer.
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Expanded Parliament and plight of patients in Masaka

Dear Tingasiga,
I am writing from Kigali, a city that reminds us that it is possible for Africa to get it right when we focus on what matters.
Yet a reader of my journal of the sounds, sights, smells and thoughts on this visit encounters a montage of Rwanda and Uganda.
Instead of enjoying a momentary interlude in my obsession with the state of health services in my motherland, I find myself constantly thinking about the case of Bukeeri and Buwunga Health Centre IIIs in Masaka District.
We read in the Daily Monitor of last Thursday, that Bukeeri had run out of basic drugs for common diseases.
Patients were being referred to Buwunga Health Centre III, 12kms away. My people would call that measure “okuhungira enjura omu nkukuuru” (taking shelter from the rain under a cactus plant.) Buwunga Health Centre III itself was reported to be “grappling with water shortage and power challenges as the solar system they have cannot power the refrigerator to preserve blood for transfusion, as well as providing enough light.”
These stories are so routine across the entire country that they are probably received with a shrug by a population that has come to accept this as “the way things are.”
But things were not always this way.
Memories of a childhood spent at Mparo Health Centre in Kigezi flood back. My father was the senior medical assistant in charge of Mparo between 1954 and 1963.
One of the unforgettable treats was the highly predictable arrival of a “burensi” (ambulance), piloted by the ever-smiling Mr Rubambarama, loaded with drug and other supplies.
My father would invite my older brothers and I to lend a hand to Mr Rutembesa, the “ton boy”, to unload the burensi, restock the dispensary shelves and load boxes of expired drugs into the vehicle.
Rubambarama and Rutembesa were such regular visitors to the health center that we considered them part of our lives.
Years later, I learnt from my father that the same burensi would deliver an envelope containing his salary and that of other staff at the health centre. Not once did money go missing. Not once did staff go without pay beyond the expected day. Not once did the health centre have shortages of supplies.
There was a very large billboard at the main entrance of the Mparo Health Centre that read: Emibazi n’eyabusha. Okugigura n’obushema.” (Drugs are free. Buying them is foolishness.)
Why was this possible? I think the answer boils down to two things: Leadership and national priorities.
The colonial rulers, from the governor down to the sub-county chiefs, considered it their duty to serve the people. There was clarity of purpose and pride of progress.
Serving Her Majesty’s subjects was not some meaningless rhetoric but a serious commitment to making a difference in people’s lives. The governor’s comfort did not take precedence over the needs of his subjects. The members of the Legislative Council did not consider their survival and emoluments to be top on the national agenda.
This spirit continued in the early years of independence, until things fell apart following the military coup of 1971. However, the semiliterate military rulers were amateurs compared to their educated successors when it came to feeding off the national trough.
In 2015 the rulers seem to consider it their right to be served by their subjects. This is illustrated by the decision by parliament to burden the treasury with another 65 parliamentary constituencies.
This gross gerrymandering, designed to cater to the needs of the political class, will further deprive the people of Bukeeri and elsewhere who teeter at breaking point.
The current parliament of 384 members is already too big, too expensive, dysfunctional and unnecessary. The ease of mobility and telecommunications in 2015 compared to 1965 makes the work of a serious MP much easier than it was back then. Yet the same country had a small and relatively affordable parliament of 92 members.
I continue to believe that the number of MPs should not be determined by population size, but by geographic area represented. After all, besides attending weddings, funerals and fundraisers, an MP hardly serves individual concerns of his constituents.
However, if we stick to a population-based approach, a ratio of 1:200,000 would be more than sufficient. With a current population of 37 million, Uganda’s parliament ought to be reduced to 185 members.
Besides improved efficiency of representation, legislation and oversight, these being the real duties of an MP, the savings would go a long ways towards meeting the real needs of the citizens.
Instead we now have a situation where the expansion to 425 MPs will cost the poor even more, including the added demand for a larger chamber to accommodate them.
And that is not all. The MPs, distrustful of the public health services that their constituents endure, will demand even more allowances at the start of the next parliament, to enable them to travel abroad for better care. It is one area where there is unity across the party lines.
In the end, the solution to the plight of the people in Bukeeri, Bududa, Buikwe, Ber, Bushenyi, Bugangari and all over the land must come from a population that is determined to peacefully reclaim their rights.

http://www.monitor.co.ug/OpEd/OpEdColumnists/MuniiniMulera/Expanded-Parliament-and-plight-of-patients-in-Masaka/-/878676/2818458/-/10aa02c/-/index.html

Monday, 21 September 2015

How will history judge the 9th Parliament?

The 9th parliament is in its last eight months, three of which shall be after elections and, therefore, of no consequence.

At the moment, every MP, for those who will seek re-election, is deeply engaged in the campaigns, with some of us having already clinched our party flags. But as we close shop, one cannot fail to question how history will judge the 9th parliament. We started off with a lot of promise, exciting Ugandans. From Speaker Rebecca Kadaga to the most obscure MP in the House, we looked and sounded a promising team.

Within a few months, an impeachment motion against President Museveni was signed by 57 of us; days later, two ministers were censured. Others, including the prime minister, were sent on forced leave of sorts. We instituted a probe against Umeme, probed deep into alleged oil maladministration, chased away nonentities Museveni appointed ministers, demanded better pay for teachers and almost threw out the budget for failure to devote enough funds to the health sector.

It was around this period that every Ugandan that had a problem ran to parliament, and proposals for Kadaga to become president started floating and looking realistic.

MYSTERIOUS DEATH

In came the mysterious death of Hon Cerinah Nebanda. We attempted quickly to summon ourselves from recess to question the cause; instead, we woke up the devil. Four years down the road, we have ended up doing things in a style that depicts us as being totally unconscious of the interests of this country! Could it be that we shall be remembered as the most disappointing parliament since independence?

Every parliamentary year, Speaker Kadaga has been laboring to enumerate the number of bills we have passed, petitions handled, questions asked and answered and motions moved. Indeed, on this front, we have achieved a lot. Yet even this can’t cover up for the disappointment the 9th parliament has brought to Ugandans.

Its worst crime, in my opinion, was to ride on a moral ticket, start off with a lot of aptitude and robustness and go cold within a few months. This, coupled with our failure to reverse even a single uncomplimentary action done by both the 7th and 8th parliaments, has made Ugandans to conclude that politicians are one and the same – self-seekers.

I believe a few of us are victims of group condemnation just because we have drowned in a sea of the remotelycontrolled voices of the NRM MPs, and some opposition turncoats. I have come to discover that in most cases, the background upon which a person joins parliament is a major determinant of his/her conduct in the House. It seems the NRM MPs are so indebted to President Museveni that he can whip them in every direction of his choice.

The question Ugandans need to ask is what precisely did President Museveni do for these people? Because, in confidence, most of these MPs will tell you how much they are sickened by the system. They will even point out for you areas where you can pin government. Interestingly, the same people will shout out loudest when it comes to defending government on the floor!

Still, at the risk of vexing colleagues who sit on the left side of the speaker, I contend that if the sixty of us in the opposition had remained steadfast, calculated every move we have been taking, acted selflessly and remained true to our positions as opposition, the 9th parliament would have been very different from what it has been.

Many times I have asked my leader of opposition why exactly we are in the opposition yet we seem to be acquiescing in the NRM sinful deeds?

Recently, I almost croaked due to frustration when colleagues abandoned me on the floor as their shadow minister for Local Government to join the NRM in clamoring for new districts and constituencies. In the very period, all the public universities had remained closed for three weeks due to striking staff over salary enhancement.

PROMISING HELL

When medical staff in the country’s hospitals were on strike over low salaries, colleagues on both sides of the House were promising hell if their constituencies were not subdivided further into smaller units! Imagine passing a motion for creation of twenty-three new districts on a day you are also passing a motion to borrow over Shs 1 trillion!!

Soon after being sworn in to represent Mukono municipality, I was requested by journalists to predict what the 9th parliament would be and I remember telling them that I expected it “to turn itself into a constituent assembly and spoil even the little that remained of the 1995 Constitution”. Today, as I look back, I see that my prophecy was not far from the truth.

When the opportunity to amend the Constitution presented itself, we pushed it away, citing lack of time. Worse still, the NRM caucus introduced a term that had never been heard of in the history of Ugandan politics – sole candidate. In this, we were saying that President Museveni shouldn’t only lead Uganda for life but he should also stand unopposed. What more would one need to turn Uganda into a kingdom?

From what I hear in the public domain, I can predict with ease that the disappointed Ugandans who are going to the polls without any civic education and full of vendetta against politicians are likely to recklessly choose leaders basing on nonissues – turning the august House into a big joke… or can we as the 9th Parliament use the remaining few months to redeem the fading image of the House?

The other question can be: “how do we get Ugandans to kick out the devilish NRM system that is killing every institution in this country?”

The author is DP president for Buganda region, and MP for Mukono Municipality.

Monday, 14 September 2015

Amama blasts ‘rogue’ NRM government

Presidential aspirant AMAMA MBABAZI was an angry man on Wednesday, September 9, the third day of his eastern public consultative tour after police using rubber bullets and tear gas broke up his rally at Soroti Sports Grounds.

Speaking to NBS TV at Soroti hotel later, Mbabazi vented his anger at what he called a “rogue government.” Lawrence Misege listened to the recording and below is a slightly-abridged transcript.

How do you describe your day?

It was a bad day for Uganda. It was a bad day for democracy because I did not believe that my own government would behave like a rogue government. I can’t believe it; we came in according to the plan the organizers had agreed with the local police.

We headed straight to the venue where the public consultative meeting was to take place. In the morning, they had cancelled the original venue [Soroti Independence Square] and when I was informed about it on phone, I told our people to cooperate with the police.

They went to a new field, the sports ground, and you may have noticed that at the time I arrived the tent had not been fully erected. Obviously this was meant to disrupt that public rally.

I know from the information I have gathered now, that starting yesterday [Tuesday] and with greater intensity this morning, there was an effort to mobilize people here against the rally; actually they tried to mobilize people to demonstrate against my arrival and to use violence against my supporters; the people refused and I want to use this opportunity to salute the people of Teso and particularly the people of Soroti municipality for refusing those rogue ideas from some MPs and leaders of this area.

Can you be specific on those leaders you are talking about that tried to mobilize against your supporters?

Yes I am going to do so because I am going to write to them. I am to write to government; I’m going to write to Parliament to protest because I cannot believe that anyone within their proper senses would engage in a thing like that. We are in a democracy that’s what we fought for and many of these fellows who simply come up do not know where all this came from.

They behave like rogues, absolute rogues; anyway, it failed, the people of Teso refused, they refused and you saw the warmth with which I was received when I entered town.

As I was entering the playground, some police officer came to me; I later learnt he was called Mr. Acaye. He came to me and told me as I was moving that this public rally was unlawful. But as he was talking, the young people who were near looked agitated and I advised him that it was not safe for us to continue talking [at that spot] because he could have been injured.

So, we went to the podium and we sat together and he told me that he had been instructed by the Electoral Commission that this public rally was unlawful. I told him it was not unlawful.

I know the law very well, when I wrote to the national Electoral Commission about my public consultative meetings, I was not requesting their permission because I don’t need their permission. The law only requires me to notify them and I met that requirement; the law requires me to notify the police and I did.

In the case of police, the IGP [Kale Kayihura] wrote back to me saying it was alright he had cleared me. I didn’t seek his clearance either because I don’t need it but anyhow he wrote back. The electoral commission did not write to me; they have not told me anything that they seem to be talking about.

This Electoral Commission, I think it is behaving in a manner that totally undermines the purpose for which they were set up because they were set up to conduct democratic elections in Uganda but it appears that the things they do are intended to undermine that very principle of democracy and therefore I think we are headed in the wrong direction in terms of the management of our elections now.

Then Mr Acaye said – well, he actually rose and left. Shortly after that, they attacked; the police attacked; you saw what happened, they were using tear gas canisters, they shot people, there are so many people who are injured. I have seen some of them; one was shot.

I have got a report that one was shot with a live bullet in the foot. I certainly have seen others who have been injured; there are four who are still in hospital unconscious, this was not provoked; nothing had happened.

I was just entering; nobody had done anything. People were happily receiving me; that was all. So, I think the actions of the police were obviously not provoked; it’s unlawful and it deserves the condemnation that any rogue action by any state agency deserves.

You talk about leaders and MPs who mobilized against you; who are those leaders you are talking about?

Yes I told you that I will answer that; in fact I am going to write to those individuals registering my protest to them. I am possibly going to look at other actions; I have talked to my lawyers about it. I would like to see what legal action we can have against these individuals who behave like rogues.

Does this change your perception about the NRM government that you served for close to three decades?

Well, you know I have told you many times that this government has veered off the course of our struggle that’s the reason why I have decided not to remain with them in government because I am really committed to the core principles of the struggle; democracy and unity, noble principles that our people gave up their own lives for.

And the fact that I am out, is evidence that they [NRM] had actually started veering off. This is further evidence of what I have been protesting about.

Can you authoritatively tell the nation what your stand is in regard to your membership in the ruling party?

I am a member of the ruling party. NRM has many people, I actually believe majority of them don’t subscribe to what is happening now; they don’t support it and I think the big debate in NRM is whether we should have change or not and that will be the debate within NRM itself; that is a big question in NRM that has caused division.

So, I belong to that group that does not subscribe to what is happening now, the direction the government is taking and we think we need to change it.

What is your relationship with your longtime friend [President Museveni] now that the two of you are going to appear on the same ballot paper?

I think my relationship has nothing to do with this. Really again as I have said many times before it’s not about me, it’s not about Mr Museveni. I mean, what is a man in all this? One man!

Even the victories we have attained before, they have not been because of one man; all these victories have been as a result of collective actions always. You may have individual actions like in war and things like that but ultimately it is a collective effort that matters.

So, one man doesn’t matter so much and as far as I am concerned, we are not talking about principals, we are talking about a system; we are not talking about individuals; this has nothing to do with my relationship with him.

(Commenting on the EC’s position on illegal public rallies):

Those EC chaps who are saying that [my rallies are illegal], are illegal themselves. I think they don’t know what they are talking about. I am talking about the laws of Uganda and anyone in the Electoral Commission who says that kind of thing should stop it because they don’t know what they are talking about.

http://observer.ug/news-headlines/39869-amama-blasts-rogue-nrm-government

Saturday, 12 September 2015

Yes, poverty sucks but stick by... for a while

I ate an under-age duck. It was really little and scrawny but it was the only meaty creature aside from us humans, which was wobbling around the compound. We had eaten the rest of its family and were now down to just it. My father and I walked it to the banana plantation, lay it down, caressed the area around its neck and then murdered it in cold blood but later ate it with so much relish, steamed and spiced.
You see, we were broke; there was no money to buy food, so we had to eat what was available. When my mother told him that we had run out of charcoal, my father would nod and then go out of the house as if to go on a shopping trip to the mall. The trip would lead him to trees in the compound. He would cut down the dried branches and build a fire and behold, food would get cooked. The food, by the way, was mostly immature matooke from my mother’s garden.
I think we once had pawpaw sauce and posho for lunch. I cannot quite remember whose bright idea it was but yes, we ate that too. I have never drunk so much sugarless porridge in my life as I did back then or read by candle light for so long because electricity too abandoned us in our time of need. That might explain our dark complexion given all that soot. Life was, to say the least, hard but it did not last forever, we came through it together.
This is not to write a praise report on my mother but the story would not come together if I did not say this. Throughout all this, the chick never left or threw tantrums. Of course, it was not all smooth sailing but they stuck together through thin. So when I hear that Nalumansi left her husband of one year because he was fired and he has not been able to find a job for the last eight months, I do not understand because in my mind, it is not supposed to be this way.
Yes, poverty sucks, it is scary even but it is just that, poverty. A situation that can change. Now this is not to say that people should be comfortable having little or nothing at all and expect that everything will be normal.
We should all strive for the best in life but love and relationships should never be built solely on how many dollar signs one has imprinted on their forehead. Yes, romance without finance is a hard paper. Passionate kisses, hugs and sweet words will not pay the bills but money with no love and the perks that come with it is also less than ideal.
Money can be made, true love, however, cannot really be bought. Do not even tell me about money-hungry 23-year-olds and their confused granny brides.
Personal finance adviser, Michelle Singletary, wrote that money may not buy love, but fighting about it will bankrupt your relationship. So, let us make love but money too. Sounds to me like a good, manageable and balanced deal. I still do not think being broke justifies stinginess.
Disclaimer: I do not eat ducks and I love me some money, good ol’ money.
jnapio@ug.nationmedia.com

http://www.monitor.co.ug/artsculture/Heart-to-Heart/Yes--poverty-sucks-but-stick-by----for-a-while/-/691230/2863860/-/i4gh0y/-/index.html

Dr. Bbosa

Is it Sam Bagenda or Dr Bbosa? How should I address you?
I ‘m comfortable with either. Actually, on official documents, I write Sam Bagenda a.k.a Dr Bbosa. Many people know me by the name Dr Bbosa, which I tend to use quite often, especially for easy identification or when I want someone to act quickly.

Jog our memories a little bit; how did you become Dr Bbosa?
He was a character I played in the then popular local drama series That’s Life Mwattu.

It used to show way back in the early 1990s. Dr Bbosa was funny, greedy and a womaniser. He had all the character traits men associate with. Eventually, Dr Bbosa became a darling among the viewers and thus, the name stuck.

For how many years have you been acting?

I started around 1986. I think I was in my early 20s then. This was still with the group, Ebonies.

Initially, I had joined as a singer but after about three years, the director and producer of the group, J.W.K Ssembajwe, wrote a stage play entitled The Dollar and told me I was going to play a part in it.

I took it as a joke but he insisted. I acted as a priest. I remember really being nervous doing it but afterwards, the feedback I got was overwhelming. People seemed to have loved my character. That was when it rang a bell that I could probably do some acting. That is how I started.

Why have you stuck with acting?
I have three formulas that help govern my life; passion, patience and persistence. Since I have a lot of passion for acting, I have never dreamt of leaving it.

But have there ever been instances where you felt like walking away from it all?
No. The Ebonies are the ones who spotted my talent and I feel like they made me who I am today. So, there is that special attachment that I have with the group, especially with Ssembajwe, who insisted that I act.

What became of some of the other famous characters that were part of the group?
Well, Nakawunde (Harriet Nalubwama) is now saved and is based in London, while Vicky (Rose Kamya) is doing her own thing in Boston. Sadly, some passed on like Dick (Paul Katende).

Do you have a family?
Yes. I have a wife, Mrs Patience Bagenda. They say a Muganda man does not count his children and once I do it, I would have violated the saying. But just know that I have a good number of them. The youngest is six years old. I’m not so sure how old the eldest is though. You know, some of us fathers do not usually get to know some such petty things like the children’s age because of the many things we tend to have running through our minds.

How old are you, by the way?
I am also still confused about my age. Sometimes, I think my late mother was not so sure about it. But I’m old enough. Depending on the mood, sometimes, I will say 40 and then other times, I will say I’m 20.

Tell us about your education background.
I completed Primary Seven at Kitante Primary School along Kiira Road, Senior Four at Lubiri Secondary School in Mengo and Senior Six at Caltec Academy in Makerere.
I have a Bachelor of Commerce (BCom) from Makerere University. I graduated in 1985.

The tabloids have been awash with stories of scandals within the group. What is happening?
Whatever trash they were writing including that the group was breaking up were all imaginations. I think it is high time they wrote a hilarious play.

Do you respond to anonymous phone calls?
No, I usually do not. I learnt my lesson. People, including those I did not know, would call to tell me all sorts of problems. For example, there were students calling for money to pay their school fees and even women calling me to cater to the needs of their children because their husbands were not at home.

How do most people describe your personality?
Those who do not know me think I’m proud and unapproachable. But I’m a very cool, down to earth and patient man. In fact, my wife says the way I am very patient with so many things is annoying.
What do you think wives ought to do in order to safeguard their marriages?
You know, men have very stressful moments. We keep thinking about so many things. Sometimes, we almost run mad thinking about work, the welfare of the children and wife, among other things. At the end of the day, we are so fatigued and stressed and need comfort. And this is when the wives come in.
When your husband comes back home in the evening, receive him back warmly, ask him how his day was and if he tells you it was bad, give him hope and assurance by telling him all will be well.
The other two things the wives need to do is to be very supportive and lastly, prayerful. There is some kind of psychological satisfaction a man feels when he knows his wife is prayerful or goes to church.

To upcoming actors

I will still go back to the three 3Ps that govern my life.

You need to be patient because things do not come easy. Do not be like those guys who just enter the industry and suddenly, one starts craving to drive a hammer. You will not get anywhere with that kind of attitude.

Secondly, you need to be persistent and keep telling yourself that you will get there. Thirdly, and the most important of all is that you need to have passion for what you do. It does not even matter at the end of the day if you are getting peanuts. Sometimes, it is not all about the money but rather satisfying your conscience. With those three things, you cannot go wrong. You will definitely get to the top

http://www.monitor.co.ug/Magazines/Full-Woman/A-prayerful-wife-is-a-comfort-at-home/-/689842/2858744/-/item/0/-/xek89rz/-/index.html

Tuesday, 8 September 2015

Gordon B. K. Wavamunno - Brief Story

From humble beginnings and through the chaos of post-independence Uganda, Gordon Wavamunno has managed to not only survive, but thrive as a businessman. From his book “Gordon B. K. Wavamunno”, we unbundle the man, reveal his motivations and the challenges he went through to build his business empire

Rugaaga — the land of my birth — is one of the remotest and least developed areas in southwestern Uganda. It is located in Bukanga county, 60km on the Mbarara- Rakai road. It was the headquarters of the old Bukanga county, before that county became part of Isingiro.

When I was born, Rugaaga was one of the six sub-counties of Isingiro county in the colonial Ankole district. Rugaaga has not always been as remote and underdeveloped as it is today. However, this once prosperous land had lost its past glory by the 1930s due to a number of reasons.

First, the cattle economy of the area was devastated by the rinderpest epidemic of the 1890s. As the people moved out of Bukanga, their land was reclaimed by the tsetse fly. It was not until the 1950s that the government launched a systematic campaign to eradicate the tsetse fly and, by so doing, to revive the cattle rearing sector of the economy in my homeland.

Secondly, with the advent of British colonialism, the centre of gravity in Ankole kingdom shifted to the Mbarara area. Thus, the Bukanga region, including Rugaaga, lost much of the geopolitical clout it enjoyed during the pre-colonial period.

Wavamunno (left) with his brothers Eliabu Lukyamuzi and Eridad Lule in the 1960s. (Courtesy photo)

In retrospect, I was lucky to be born in Rugaaga. I was brought up in a rich Kiganda culture and I have always been proud of my ethnic heritage. But given the ethnic and religious pluralism of the land of my birth, I learnt at an early age to appreciate the cultures and religions of other people. In addition to Luganda, I learnt to speak Runyankore fluently.

This language became my second mother tongue. This rich and varied cultural experience has always been the anchor of my life. It has taught me the virtues of tolerance and friendships across artificial ethnic divides.

Thanks to my upbringing in Rugaaga, I have made numerous friends not only in Uganda but all over the world, regardless of their ethnic or racial backgrounds. An average man of my age, who was born in Rugaaga, was destined to lead a rather limited and miserable life. He was bound to live, work, marry, raise children and eventually die within the confines of Rugaaga.

He was not likely to go to school. He was condemned to a peasant life, characterised by poverty, ignorance and disease. His wife was bound to bear children without professional maternity care. His children were condemned to suffer from malaria, measles and whooping cough without the prospects of modern medical care.

Ordinary people did not dream of escaping from this dreary sort of life. They were resigned to their rather monotonous boring peasant life. They were content to live from hand to mouth. Their living conditions seemed to be ordained by God. For these reasons, they did not have the means and the will to change their rural way of life for the better.

They did not realise that making money and educating their children were the keys to development. Accordingly, for all its potential, the Rugaaga of my youth was not attractive enough to retain ambitious young men, including myself.

My father’s home was located in Rugaaga trading centre. Therefore, compared to my contemporaries who lived in isolated villages deep in the countryside, I grew up in a relatively urban atmosphere. This meant that I had more exposure and contacts with the outside world than the typical rural child of my age.

For example, I was, early in my life, introduced to petty trade and the good things of life, such as sugar, soap, good clothes and, above all, money.

President Yoweri Museveni (centre), the Wavamunnos (standing next to him) and Michael Timiss and his son. (Coutesy photo)

I have no doubt that my enduring passion for business has its roots in the Rugaaga trading centre of my youth. I was brought into this world on December 16, 1943 at the height of the Second World War. Like most babies of my generation, my mother gave birth at home without modem maternity attention. In those days, there were no antenatal, maternity and postnatal services in a place like Rugaaga.

Fortunately, from what she told me, for all her 13 children, my mother never suffered any pregnancy or childbirth complications.

According to my mother, I was a healthy and bouncing baby, who was lucky enough to escape from the deadly, but preventable diseases that have caused so much pain to millions of African children for generations.

My father named me Gordon Babala Kasibante Wavamunno. When I was a baby, Nyense Nansimbi, my cousin and daughter of Paulo Kitakule, my maternal uncle, helped my mother to nurse me and my brothers and sisters.

From the age of about 14 years, during my school holidays, I used to accompany my father on his cattle and coffee trading trips around Ankole.

There used to be an open cattle market every end of the month. After selling the cattle, we would buy boxes of matches, Kiganda knives, hurricane lamps, textile materials, including barkcloth and, on good days, even bicycles, which we took back to Rugaaga to sell to our customers in Bukanga.

My father always encouraged my business interest and instincts. From his numerous dealings with Indian businessmen, he had observed that they taught their children not only their culture, but also the tricks of the family business from an early age.

They had a strong sense of sticking together and helping one another. They always spoke to each other in their own languages. They never abandoned their native ways. My father always admired the Indians’ business methods of work and never missed an opportunity to tell me that, if Africans wanted to succeed in business, they had to behave and act like the Indian community in Uganda.

He wanted me to emulate their methods and business acumen and to learn as much as I could from them. In those days, it appeared to me that my father was making big profits on some of the items he bought and sold.

He used to buy a bicycle in the range of sh80 to sh120 and would sell it between sh180 and sh200, making a gross margin of sh80 to sh100. Similarly, one head of cattle, whose cost was in the range of sh18 and sh20, used to fetch between sh35 and sh50, while a pound of meat used to cost 40 cents and sell for 60 cents.

Wavamunno, pictured here with other prominent business stakeholders, display their certificates after being honoured with the title of Associate Professor by Makerere University Private Sector in 2006. (Credit: Ronald Kabuubi)

To my young and impressionable mind, such margins looked impressive indeed. Since then, I have learnt from experience that such margins were misleading.

African businessmen like my father did not keep records to work out the cost of sales and to compute profits. They did not cost their time. They did not separate their business earnings from their private incomes. They did not really know whether their businesses were doing well or not. That is why African businesses do not survive, let alone grow from one generation to another.

Whenever I accompanied my father on his numerous business trips, I worked as his assistant. I used to count the money and the goods we purchased. I supervised the loading and offloading of the things we bought and sold. In some cases, my father used to delegate to me the task of selling and buying whatever goods he was trading in.

As I grew older, my father gave me more responsibilities. He often gave me assignments to transact business on his behalf. These assignments included trade negotiations, collecting debts, delivering or collecting messages and effecting payments.

I must say that nothing gave me more pleasure than my participation in my father’s trading activities. Although I passed my examinations well and was admitted to Mbarara High School, I decided not to go for further studies in order to have an early start in business.

I was determined to follow in my father’s footsteps in business and to make it to the top as a wealthy man. I had not discussed my plans to plunge into business with my father and I did not know how he would react. Fortunately, he was thinking along the same lines.

One evening, he called me and said: “Gordon, I know you have been admitted to Mbarara High School, but I don’t know whether this is the right thing to do. As you know, I am getting on in years and I can no longer manage all these businesses on my own. I want one of you to join me in business. I have always known that you have a knack for business. What do you think?”

I was pleasantly surprised by my father’s invitation to join his business. I told him that I would be honoured to work with him to develop our family business. I was already well-groomed for the task and was familiar with his business activities.

Wavamunno was knighted with the honour of Sir from St. Johns in the UK, and as this picture shows, there is evidence to that. (Credit: Ronald Kabuubi)

I, therefore, accepted his invitation, which I saw as a golden opportunity to realise my own business dreams. At this stage of my life, I had not set, developed, refined and concretised my goals. My goalposts have invariably shifted with time and experience. Although I grew up on a farm and developed respect for hard work and the dignity of labour, rural life did not hold my fancy. As much, as I loved Rugaaga, I did not see my life tied up with that area.

I developed a burning desire, despite my small stature, to become a giant businessman. When I joined my father’s business after Gayaza, I was not formally appointed.

My father did not give me any specific terms and conditions of service. He did not tell me what my salary would be nor did he spell out my schedule of duties. In those days, family businesses did not have regular terms of employment.

Sons worked in their father’s businesses and they were somehow expected to benefit if those businesses were successful.

Personally, I did not care much about employment formalities. What I wanted most was to learn the secrets of business under my father’s tutelage so that sooner rather than later, I would be able to become a successful businessman in my own right. In the meantime, as a business apprentice, I was prepared to do whatever my father instructed me to do in any of his business activities. All these responsibilities helped to sharpen my business acumen and entrepreneurial spirit.

Meanwhile, my father had other ideas about my business future. After working with him for almost a year, he attached me to the Merali family in Mbarara town to learn the secrets of business. I was naturally excited by this decision. It seemed to be, and indeed it was, another step in the right direction.

I had always dreamed of moving to a big town like Mbarara to escape from poverty and eventually to become a successful businessman like my father’s Asian friends. Although at the time I did not fully grasp the full implications of my attachment to the Merali family, this turned out to be another milestone in my long journey to business success. Sadru Merali was a kind man.

Unlike most of his fellow Asian traders, he treated his workers in a humane and civilised manner. He also had good relations with his customers and, for all the time I worked with him, he never lost his temper.

His family operated a wholesale/ retail shop on Mbaguta road in Mbarara. Apart from the shop, the Merali family was involved in produce buying throughout Ankole kingdom. They also operated mines at Mwirasandu, Kikagate, Isingiro, Sheema, Kabira and Mayanga in Ankole and Kebishoni in what is now Rukungiri district, but then part of colonial Kigezi.

The minerals from these areas included tin, alluvial gold and tungsten (wolfram). Sadru Merali welcomed me into his home and businesses. He gave me accommodation in his quarters behind the shop. I do not know what he had discussed with my father, but as soon as I reported to his shop, Merali told me that I would be required to work as a cashier in any of his businesses.

As part of my terms of service, he offered me food and a small salary, in addition to free accommodation. Although I worked in the shop and was occasionally assigned duties in his mining operations, I was mainly involved in produce buying.

Merali used to send me and other workers to all parts of Ankole — Rwampara, Sheema, Igara, Ibanda, Kajara, name it — to buy coffee, soyabeans, groundnuts, onions, simsim, beans, castor oil seeds and many other crops.

The Merali family had two lorries, a Leyland and Mercedes Benz model 322, on which we travelled to buy and transport produce to Mbarara. The drivers of these lorries were Abdu Bamunyise and Charles Baabumba. They were older and more experienced than me and they knew their way around all the corners of Ankole.

They became my friends and I vividly remember how hard I worked with them to promote our employer’s produce buying business. In this business, my duties included paying for the produce, but in some remote and inaccessible areas, we used to carry the produce on our heads using footpaths around Ankole.

The Wavamunnos: Gordon and Morine at a function

During my apprenticeship with the Merali family, I learnt a lot of useful things about business. The Merali family was a closeknit family. They worked hard for long hours to increase sales and to expand their business. Unlike Africans who are more inclined to spend whatever they earned, the Merali family was determined to save as much money as possible for a rainy day. This taught me that saving for tomorrow is an indispensable pre-condition for business success.

Another important lesson from my apprenticeship with the Merali family was that credit and working capital were the keys to business success. Their family used to buy goods from their Asian business associates in Kampala on credit. They also used to extend credit to their select customers in Ankole.

In addition, the Merali family operated a bank overdraft to generate sufficient working capital for their produce buying and mining operations. The Merali family’s access to credit made me realise why it was difficult for Africans to succeed in business. African traders did not have access to bank loans because they did not have security.

They could not easily get credit from their suppliers. This meant that African traders were too handicapped to compete with their Asian rivals in the world of business. Therefore, by the time I left the Merali family to start my own business, I knew it was crucial to access credit. My apprenticeship taught me a lot about different types of businesses. For an upcoming African businessman with modest means, mining was out of the question.

On the other hand, produce buying was more manageable and convenient since it did not require a lot of capital and sophisticated knowledge. With modest savings, it was possible to go into produce buying and gradually expand one’s business activities from savings and profits. That is why I chose to venture into produce buying when I left the Merali family at the end of 1961.

My move from Rugaaga to Mbarara introduced me to the challenges and excitements of urban life. It goes without saying that life in Mbarara was more hectic. As a young man, I had a lot to learn and internalise.

Mbarara had more people, vehicles, schools, hospitals and utilities like water, electricity and telephones. More information was available not only about the developments in Ankole, but also about those in the country, Africa and the world at large.

There were more business opportunities for making money in Mbarara than in rural Rugaaga. There were also entertainment facilities, although apart from the cinema and football, none attracted my fancy. In any case, most of the time I was up and down the country and as such, I did not have much spare time for relaxation and socialisation.

Nevertheless, Mbarara opened my eyes to the outside world and launched me into the demanding, but rewarding world of business.
http://www.newvision.co.ug/news/673044-wavamunno-making-of-a-successful-businessman.html